


The Time of Fire

by SwansAndPirates



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8024590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwansAndPirates/pseuds/SwansAndPirates
Summary: Hook is sent back in time to protect 19-year-old Emma from a new enemy. But this Emma is very different to the woman he knows and loves. Will he be able to save her from herself, or will the fire consume them all?
An alternate season 6 - chapter one written before season 6 aired so no basis in the actual plot!





	1. The Time Jump

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic so comments very much encouraged! Enjoy :)

****_Storybrooke, 2016_

 

“So let me get this straight,” Emma ground out between clenched teeth. “Jafar has gone back in time to find me in Manhattan as a 19-year-old, and kill me before I can ever become the Savior.”

“Correct”, said Regina grimly.

“And you want to send Hook through the portal to protect 19-year-old me.”

“So you _do_ listen then,” came the sarcastic reply. “ _Yes_ , for the seventh time – Jafar, time portal, you as a 19-year-old, his mission is to _kill you_ and we need someone to stop that from happening.”

The portal chose that very moment to emit a sudden surge of crackling light and everyone jumped at this reminder of how little time they had.

Emma glanced desperately in Hook’s direction. “But why does it have to be Killian? I only just got him back!”

Hook had been watching the circular conversation between Emma and Regina with mounting frustration. He could see Emma’s distress, could practically taste the bitterness of it on his tongue, and was as loath to leave his Swan as she was to be left. He took a step forward, his hand stretched towards Regina in a placatory gesture.

“Can’t Emma come with me?”

“ _Have you idiots not been listening to a word I’ve been saying?_ ” Regina threw her hands into the air in annoyance, then took a deep breath. “Now, listen very carefully – I will not repeat this again. The time portal only has enough energy left to allow _one person_ through. That person should most definitely _not_ be Emma. Everyone take a moment to remember what Emma was like when she first came to Storybrooke. Now try and imagine how she’ll react to seeing _herself_ materializing in her apartment. Is it sinking in yet?”

There was a chorus of reluctant nods before Regina continued.

“Good. Now, we need someone to go through the portal who can take care of themselves, who knows her inside out and can help steer her in the right direction, and who has been to New York before. Taking all those things into account, Guyliner here is the obvious choice.”

Regina folded her arms with finality and stared regally around at the assembled group. Charming heaved a deep sigh, admitting defeat.

“Much as I hate to admit it, Hook probably is the person here who knows Emma the best.”

Emma felt ganged up on, betrayed. She could feel the tears pooling behind her eyes. She turned to face Killian, everyone else around them suddenly becoming irrelevant in the face of her distress.

“But… what will happen to him?” she whispered. “When will I see him again?”

Regina’s stern expression softened. She and Emma had come a long way together since their first meeting so many years before, and she gained no pleasure from her friend’s pain.

“If everything goes as it should do, he should reappear within seconds of going through the time portal and you won’t even notice he’s gone,” Regina reassured her.

“And if it doesn’t?” said Emma fearfully.

There was a pregnant pause while everyone held their breath and waited for Regina’s answer.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But this is our only option, it _has_ to be done. If Jafar succeeds, then we’ve lost everything. Storybrooke will revert back to its cursed state, everyone will lose their happy endings, and things will stay that way _forever_.”

Regina looked around the assembled group and saw the reality of the situation sinking in. She nodded in grim satisfaction, and turned to face Hook.

“So, Killian. Will you do this?”

Killian hesitated, thinking. “From the perspective of everyone here, mere seconds will pass before I reappear in their timeline. But for me, who knows how long it will be?”

He raked a hand through his hair. Regina said nothing – there was nothing to say.

After everything he and Emma had been through, the thought of leaving her now filled Killian with physical pain. He could not even begin to guess how different from his Emma this 19-year-old version would be, or how painful it would be to be trapped in the past with a woman so similar and yet so profoundly different from the woman that he loved. But, it had to be done.

He fixed his piercing blue eyes on Emma and waited for her to raise her head and look at him before answering. When she did, the love he saw there was enough to reassure him – what they shared was more true and unbreakable than any steel, he knew that right down to his bones. The separation might be long, and hard, but she would still be here when he was back.

Finally, he nodded. “Aye”.

“OK, then” Regina said with satisfaction. “Say your goodbyes. It’s time to go.”

*

 

_Manhattan, 2002_

 

Emma Swan was having a very bad day.

She had slept through her alarm that morning causing her to be over an hour late for her shift, for the third time this month. She had been fired from her job, again. She had exactly $38.16 left in the entire world. She had just arrived home and turned on the light switch to discover her electricity had been cut off.

And she _still_ could not stop thinking about the nameless, beautiful baby boy she had given up from her jail cell all those months before.

She hurled her keys down onto the makeshift ply wood coffee table in her one room apartment, screwed her eyes tight shut and tried not to cry.

If she started crying now, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to stop.

After several deep breaths, she had regained enough composure to seek out her meager alcohol stash, settling in to the sofa with a bottle of vodka and a shot glass.

She poured herself two shots and knocked them straight back, feeling a numb detachment starting to overtake her as thoughts swirled around in her head.

_…Can’t even watch TV, no damn electricity…_

_…Stupid job! I never liked working there anyway…_

_…I guess I could always turn to shoplifting again…_

_…I wonder what Neal’s doing now? I wonder where he is?..._

_…Please let my baby have found a good home…_

_…Please let him be safe…_

_…Please let him be loved…_

Silent tears began to trickle, then flood down Emma’s face as she stared unseeing at the cracked wall of her apartment while the early evening darkness descended around her.

And finally, one last thought screaming itself inescapably in her mind.

_Is this the best that life has to offer me?_

At some point much later that evening, Emma realized two things: her bottle of vodka was empty; and the sun was fully set. She heaved a great sigh and swept her hand angrily across her face to brush away the tears. Her life was what it was – and there was nothing she could do about it.

She was just about to haul herself off the sofa and look for a candle when something unbelievable happened – something which made her deeply question the ingredients in the vodka she’d just been drinking. A spark of blinding purple light suddenly appeared in the middle of her apartment floor. It grew larger and larger, forcing her to scramble back to the edges of the room. A fierce wind roared from the source of the light, swirling around the apartment – distantly, she heard several smashing noises but was too busy clinging to the wall for dear life to notice or care what had broken.

The light and wind and sound reached a crescendo. She screwed up her eyes against it. She heard a loud thump, as though something large and heavy had just been flung into the room. She heard a sucking noise, as though a vacuum had suddenly been sealed tight shut.

And then – silence.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes. Her apartment looked like it had been the victim of a very localized hurricane, but that was not what made her gasp in astonishment.

Lying sprawled in the middle of her living room, partially obscured by her coffee table but clearly unconscious, was a man.

_What the hell??_

She edged cautiously away from the wall towards the man, taking him in. He wore tight black trousers and a black waistcoat under a sharp leather jacket, which was falling open and giving her a good view of a well-muscled figure under all the clothes. His dark hair was artfully disheveled and his face – she dimly registered under the astonishment she was feeling that this man was _outrageously_ handsome. His features were fine and well cut, his jaw was strong and stubbled, he had a scar running the length of one cheek lending him a dangerous air. And – bizarrely – in place of his left hand he had a deadly sharp fisherman’s hook attached to his arm. Emma didn’t have much space left in her brain for surprise any more, but that was definitely a poser…

She shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it. She was tired, more than a little drunk and had possibly just experienced a very vivid hallucination. This man was clearly real, though. _What did she do now?_

“OK, first things first,” she muttered to herself, “deal with the unconscious guy in my apartment.”

She edged towards the kitchen, climbing carefully over the mystery man’s legs and filling a glass with cold water.

She turned back around to face him, braced herself, and dumped the water straight onto his head.

The effect was instantaneous. The man gasped back to consciousness, bolting upright and shaking droplets of water around the room.

Then he whipped his head around to look at her, and for a moment Emma could have sworn her heart stopped. She found herself looking into a pair of the bluest eyes she had ever seen in her life – eyes filled with warmth and humor and affection. Eyes filled with something that looked almost like it might be – _love_.

Then the man spoke – just a single word. Emma didn’t know it at the time, but later on she knew – this was the moment when everything changed.

“Swan.”


	2. A Ghost From the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so... I posted the first chapter of this story well over a year ago and then life got in the way. I'm going to try to update it regularly from now on - please do let me know what you think in the comments!

_…She found herself looking into a pair of the bluest eyes she had ever seen in her life – eyes filled with warmth and humor and affection. Eyes filled with something that looked almost like it might be – love._

_Then the man spoke – just a single word. Emma didn’t know it at the time, but later on she knew – this was the moment when everything changed._

_“Swan.”_

 

Five seconds passed in dead silence. The mystery man continued to stare at her like she was the most precious thing in the world, and Emma felt her mouth opening and closing while she scrambled around in her head for something to say. As he made to push himself up from his puddle on the floor, she finally snapped out of it.

“Stay there… don’t move!” she threatened, snatching up the first weapon to hand – which happened to be the empty vodka bottle.

The man raised his hands (hand and _hook_ , she corrected herself with a tiny headshake) slowly from the floor in a gesture of surrender, sweeping his eyes calculatingly from her face, to the bottle, and back to her face again. That glowing look he was giving her had gone now, to be replaced by a knowing expression. She didn’t understand why, but she suddenly got the feeling that this man knew exactly what he’d landed into, knew _her_ to the very depths of her soul. It left her feeling unsettlingly raw, and her voice was shakier than she’d intended when she spoke again.

“Ok, who are you, how the _hell_ do you know my name, and _what the fuck_ just happened?!”

“Before I answer you,” he replied slowly, “may I at least extract myself from this pool of water you’ve seen fit to dump over me? Trust me, I have absolutely no intention of hurting you.”

At those words, _trust me_ , he stared intensely into her eyes, almost as though he knew about her superpower and was willing her to believe him. His voice was low, reassuring and disarmingly pleasant; but though her inbuilt lie detector wasn’t raising any alarms, she’d had more than enough vodka to impair her judgment.

 “You’re staying right there buddy,” she replied quickly. “Oddly, I’m not inclined to _trust_ the random guy with a weapon for a prosthetic who just materialized in my apartment.”

The man glanced quickly at his hook and sighed heavily.

“Probably should have taken that off first,” she heard him mutter. He grasped the hook firmly, gave it a sharp twist and unclicked it neatly from his arm brace.

“Here,” he said gently, offering it to her, “now you’re armed and I’m not.”

She took the hook from him cautiously, and quickly weighed up her options. Something very strange was going on here, that was clear – but this man didn’t feel like a threat. In fact, he felt like…

Her thoughts shuddered to a jarring halt. She was drunk, tired and sad – that was the only explanation for the unfamiliar notion that had just occurred to her. But now that it was there, she couldn’t shake it off.

He felt like a _friend_ – and she really didn’t have many of those to go around.

But that was completely crazy! She’d never laid eyes on this guy before until just now, when he’d been thrown unconscious into her apartment by a freak storm or… or maybe a practical joke or…

Well, _something_ had brought him here! She hadn’t even really spoken to him yet – she had every reason to be suspicious and no reason at all to trust him –

Except her gut was telling her that she could.

Emma took in a shaky breath and looked at him for a long moment. He had barely taken his eyes off her since he’d regained consciousness, and now he was returning her gaze, a gently imploring expression in those blue eyes. She noticed with a slightly hysterical giggle that he was wearing eyeliner, and the water she’d thrown at him was now causing it to run in black rivulets down his face. He looked ridiculous, and – now she had his hook – not at all threatening.

Reaching her decision, she took a small step back and lowered the vodka bottle.

“Ok,” she said, gesturing with the bottle to the sofa, “sit down. Let me grab you a towel, and then I’d really appreciate it if you could explain what the hell is going on.”

“Aye,” he said shortly, giving her a nod and getting gingerly to his feet.

 

 

Five minutes later, the man had dried himself off, hung his soaked leather jacket from the back of a chair with a grimace and hastily wiped the eyeliner tracks off his face after Emma had been unable to contain her smirk. Now the pair of them were sitting side by side on the small sofa, and Emma was feeling unaccountably shy.

“So,” she said hesitantly, “are you going to tell me your name?”

He smiled kindly at her, making her suspect once again that he knew exactly how she was feeling.

“My name’s Killian – Killian Jones.”

“And you already know my name.” It was a statement, not a question, but Emma still looked closely into his face for confirmation.

“You’re Emma Swan.” He breathed her name like a promise, a vow. The tenderness she’d seen in his eyes a few minutes earlier was back again at full force – no one had looked at her that way since Neal, and at this deeply confusing and thoroughly unwelcome reminder of her ex, she suddenly lost her temper.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” she snapped angrily.

“Like what?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in a distractingly handsome expression of puzzlement.

“Like the sun shines out of my fucking ass!”

The man – _Killian Jones_ – froze, and Emma could see him making a conscious effort to school his features into a more neutral expression.

“Well?” she demanded.

He didn’t answer straight away. His eyes roamed her face, alight with indecision.

“Ok,” he said finally, “Swan, this is going to sound crazy – but I need you to keep an open mind. Can you do that, love?”

“Don’t call me love,” she growled at him, her arms crossed.

“Right, sorry, I forgot you wouldn’t like that,” he replied hastily. “Just listen to me for a moment, ok?”

He waited for her to respond, and when she nodded warily, he plunged on.

“Before I appeared in your apartment, you saw something unexplainable, didn’t you?”

Emma didn’t respond, but Killian clearly wasn’t expecting her to as he carried on talking anyway.

“You saw a swirling gap in the fabric of the air appear, glowing purple, whipping up wind and crackling with static?”

She nodded once, wide eyed. All of a sudden her mouth felt very dry.

“What you saw was a time portal,” he said earnestly. “On the other side of that portal was the year 2016. I’m your… I’m a _friend_ of yours from the future, and I’ve been sent back to protect you from an enemy who wants to see you dead. I know this probably sounds completely crazy – ”

Emma snorted in incredulous agreement.

“– but you saw the portal with your own eyes! I need you to take a leap of faith and believe me, sweetheart – I’m here to help, and I won’t rest until you’re safe again.”

Killian finished his impassioned speech and looked at her, waiting for her response. Emma just gaped at him. How the _hell_ , could he expect her to believe all that?

“This is _insane_!” she said, breaking eye contact and dropping her head into her hands.

“Emma?” he asked tentatively, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder and flinching when she leapt suddenly to her feet and started pacing the apartment.

“ _This is completely and totally ridiculous!_ ” she shouted, “A time portal? The future? An _enemy_? Am I trapped in a low budget 1980s movie or something?”

“Emma, you saw the portal with your own –”

“ _No!_ This is not real life! This cannot be real! I was having the _worst_ day! A hot guy does not suddenly fall out of the sky into my apartment telling me he’s my future – what? Boyfriend? _Husband_? Hell, for all I know you’re my _son_!”

Emma started laughing uncontrollably at the utter madness of it all, Killian looking on in apparent consternation, and once she started she found she couldn’t stop. As she laughed, the anger slowly drained away and then, without realizing when it happened, she found that she was crying desolately. She turned her back to Killian, not wanting him to see.

Fighting to get her tears under control, she didn’t hear him approach her, but suddenly a large hand was on her shoulder turning her gently around. Killian pulled her into his arms, murmuring unintelligible words of comfort, and though being comforted by a stranger should feel wrong, she couldn’t find it in her to resist. All she could think as she cried against his chest was how warm he was, and how _good_ it felt to have someone looking after her for once.

They stayed that way, standing in the middle of the apartment, for several minutes while Emma fought to get her tears back under control. Eventually the crying stopped, and she pulled gently away from him.

“I’ve made your shirt all wet,” she said quietly, “sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Emma,” he told her with a sad smile. He reached up to brush a tear from her cheek but she stepped back out of his space, her hand coming up to halt him.

“Look, you seem like a nice enough guy, but this is all just too much,” she told him, hating that her voice was still trembling. “None of what you just told me can possibly be true. The more logical explanation would be that I’m having some kind of nervous breakdown or the alcohol made me hallucinate or… I don’t know.”

“If it helps, I can tell you something only you would know,” Killian offered hopefully.

“Just… not now,” she said, shaking her head wearily. “Please, just go. If you’re not a figment of my imagination or a product of my meltdown, come back tomorrow morning and we can talk.”

“Tomorrow?” he said reluctantly, and she nodded.

Killian stared at her searchingly for another long moment as if checking her for any signs she might start crying again. She squared her shoulders and looked right back at him - the moment stretched on, his eyes holding hers, and she found herself wondering wistfully just who this man really was. So far she’d seen nothing but kindness and consideration from him – she wasn’t sure why, but she got the distinct feeling that there was another side to Killian Jones, something dangerous and dark lurking on the edge of those intense blue eyes and in the memory of a missing hand. He intrigued her – and she realized she wanted to understand him, to know his story, in a way that was unfamiliar to the solitary existence she’d been living since Neal’s betrayal.

She gave herself a mental shake and broke eye contact. Engaging in this kind of thinking was dangerous – In all likelihood, when he walked out that door she would never see him again. And even if he did…

_Eventually he’ll abandon you or betray you just like everyone else you’ve ever known…_

She was vaguely aware of Killian attempting to make eye contact with her again, and murmuring that he would return in the morning. She didn’t respond – and as he left the apartment and shut the door quietly behind him, she felt her despair threaten to engulf her again. She climbed onto her bed fully clothed, curled up into a ball, and – far faster than she would have imagined – her vodka soaked brain was drifting into a deep sleep.

The last thought that crossed her mind before sleep claimed her was one of grim satisfaction. She glanced hazily down at the object still clasped in her hand, and grinned.

_He has to come back – I have his hook!_


	3. The Fickleness of Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's left Kudos on this story so far! Would be really interested to hear what you think of this chapter - please let me know in the comments.

_The last thought that crossed her mind before sleep claimed her was one of grim satisfaction. She glanced hazily down at the object still clasped in her hand, and grinned._

_He has to come back – I have his hook!_

 

Several hours later, Emma woke with a groan. Her head was pounding, her mouth tasted like hell, her bladder was full to bursting and she’d had the most bizarre, unsettling dream. She blinked her eyes drowsily open, having to work hard against the gunk that had glued them together following her crying.

_Well I guess that part of the dream was real then…_

Getting heavily to her feet, she started shuffling towards the bathroom but was brought up short when her foot slipped in a large puddle of water on the floor. In dawning horror, she took her first proper look around the apartment – and gasped.

Given how few possessions she owned, it was actually quite impressive how much of a mess they’d made, she thought to herself wryly. Most of her clothes had somehow been pulled off their rail and were strewn around the room; her one solitary lamp had smashed, the shards scattered in a hazardous path between her and the bathroom; an inexplicable smattering of leaves and twigs that definitely hadn’t been there the day before littered the scene. It looked like a localized tornado had whipped through the apartment…

_Or_ , she thought, a sick feeling in her stomach, _a time portal suddenly opened up in my living room…_

She dismissed that thought quickly with a shake of the head. No… there was no possible way that part of her memory from last night could be real. The dream had been a very vivid one, and _something_ must have happened here to prompt it – the state of her apartment was proof of that. But whatever had occurred would have a logical explanation.

Either that or she had officially gone crazy…

“Right,” she muttered to herself, “Deal with the most pressing issue first.”

She picked her way carefully across the living room floor in her bare feet to the bathroom.

 

It was as she was washing her hands that another memory from last night hit her like a speeding train – a pair of glittering blue eyes in a rakishly handsome face, framed by unruly dark hair and a smattering of stubble; and… a _hook for a hand_?? No, that couldn’t be right – in fact, her whole memory of this man with his improbably perfect syntax and too-handsome features _must_ be a drink fuelled dream; a product of yesterday’s brush with despair.

There was one way to find out – _if_ the man had been real (which she doubted) his hook would still be tangled somewhere in her bed sheets.

Her heart hammering, Emma raced from the bathroom and back across the room – as she ran, she felt the bite and sting of her broken lamp prickling over the soles of her feet, but she ignored it. She wrenched the sheets from her bed and felt her jaw drop as a gleaming sharp fisherman’s hook fell from them with a clatter to the floor.

Right on cue, before she had time to fully process what she was seeing, there was a knock at the door.

For several long moments Emma just stood there, feeling utterly thrown. Then the knock repeated, more insistent this time, and she turned mechanically to answer.

Standing on the other side of the door, in all his stubbled and leather clad glory, was Killian Jones.

“Morning, love,” he said, flashing her a smirk and looking her up and down flirtatiously.

“Ummm… hi,” said Emma weakly, feeling the blood rush to her face.

A few seconds passed in silence, Killian looking at Emma expectantly, and Emma unable to do anything other than stare at him, wide eyed.

“Are you going to let me in?” he prompted. “If it helps, I’ve brought breakfast and some medicine for the pain you’re undoubtedly in after the amount of vodka you drank last night.”

Killian’s smirk widened and Emma rolled her eyes at him, but after a moment she stood back and let him swagger past her into the apartment. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion – last night, if her memory was accurate, he’d been all gentleness and concern. This morning, it was like she was meeting a different person altogether. Her superpower was telling her that what she was seeing from him was a front – a show of bravado. What she didn’t understand was _why_.

Killian stopped short as he made his way past the kitchen and some of the swagger abruptly fell away. “Bloody hell – what happened here?”

“I don’t know!” Emma replied, briefly floundering. “You were here last night when all this happened, you tell me! Isn’t that why you came back this morning, so we could talk?”

“Aye,” said Killian, turning tensely towards her, “but last night there weren’t bloody footprints tracking all over the floor. What _happened,_ love?”

“Oh,” Emma said, looking down at her bare feet. “ _Oh_. Umm, I think I’m going to need some bandages.”

Killian followed her gaze and swore.

“Right, sit down, love. Where do you keep your medical supplies? Under your bed, is it?”

Killian was already turning to march in the direction of her bed, but stopped short when Emma just shook her head at him helplessly.

“You don’t have any bandages?” he tried again, “Or… what’s that stuff called? _Antiseptic_?”

“Nope,” she replied in a small voice.

“But you _always_ keep…” he began, and abruptly stopped, raking a hand through his hair.

“Bloody hell, Emma!” he said, throwing his hands up in frustration, “I thought last night was bad! Are you entirely incapable of adequately looking after yourself?”

Emma bristled. This man was little more than a stranger to her – _how dare_ he start lecturing her like this! 

“Ok, _dad_ ,” she bit back, her tone dripping acid. “I don’t see how the way I live my life is any of your business, and I don’t need you to rescue me like I’m some kind of damsel in distress!”

Killian snorted sarcastically. “Right, ok, I’ll just leave you to bleed all over your floor, shall I?”

“I can look after myself!”

“Well you’re doing a bloody poor job of it right now, Swan”, he snapped angrily.

Emma glared back at him, but honestly, she had no comeback to offer. She was standing in the middle of her wrecked apartment, the hangover from hell pounding a constant rhythm into her skull, and dripping blood slowly onto the floor. She was an undeniable mess.

She closed her eyes wearily for a moment, and heard Killian sigh heavily. When she opened them again, he was wearing the gentle, shrewd expression she remembered so clearly from the day before, and his anger seemed to have disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Look,” he said calmly, “I apologise for my outburst – it was uncalled for. First things first, we need to do something about your feet – I know you’re capable of dealing with this on your own, but I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me.”

She nodded mutely.

“Ok then. We need some cloth to use as a bandage – do you have any old towels, or perhaps a shirt that you’re not using any more?”

“Over in the corner, by the clothes rail, there’s a duffel bag with an old shirt in it,” she replied quietly. It was Neal’s shirt – one of her last remaining mementos of that relationship, save for the swan pendant she still wore around her neck. She felt a momentary pang, but forced herself to shake it off. Neal was gone, he wasn’t coming back. Using his shirt to bandage her bleeding feet seemed like an oddly fitting way to mark acceptance of that fact.

Emma sank down onto the foldout chair by the kitchen, and within moments, Killian had extracted the shirt from the bag and was striding back over to her. He stared at it for a moment, scratching behind his ear in apparent puzzlement.

“Do you still have my hook?” he asked her.

“Over on the floor by the bed – and by the way,” she added dryly, “once we’re done bandaging my feet, I’m definitely going to be asking you to explain that one.”

Killian snorted in amused acknowledgement before snagging the hook back up off the floor and reattaching it to his odd, old fashioned arm brace. He then proceeded to use it to efficiently shred the shirt into long strips.

“Wow, handy – pun totally intended,” Emma quipped awkwardly. “But how are you going to tie the bandages with only one hand?”

By this stage Killian was bending down to his knees to reach her feet, and he paused practically eye to eye with her to shoot her a mock withering look.

“Bad form to make light of a man’s disability, Swan.”

Killian’s face was now inches from hers as he knelt before her – she could see every strand of stubble on his chin, was close enough to reach out and run her fingers down the scar on his cheek. A masculine scent of mingled leather and musk was rolling off him and she was alarmed to realise she wanted nothing more than to bury her face against his neck, feel the cords of tense muscle moving beneath her lips, and inhale deeply.

“Just hold still,” he said gently, wrapping a bandage carefully around one of her injured feet. Then he bent forward, grasped the loose end of the bandage in his mouth, and pulled it tight with excruciating slowness. His eyes didn’t leave hers for a second – there was a wicked (and for some reason, highly amused) gleam in them the whole time. Emma swallowed wetly, suddenly feeling very warm. She cast around for some way to break the tension that seemed to be descending around them.

“You’re giving me whiplash,” she said shakily.

Killian raised one expressive eyebrow at her. “I’m sorry?”

“I open the door and you’re leaning against the wall in your leather like some kind of Danny Zuko wannabe, then you start lecturing me on personal health and safety, and now you’re flirting with me. If you’re trying to keep me on my toes, it’s working.”

Killian sat back on his heels and regarded her for a moment.

“My temperament may be mercurial at times, love, but I think you’ll agree I know how to tie a bandage.”

His tone was light, and he followed it up with the most over-the-top flirtatious wink she’d ever seen. If his aim had been to break the tension, it worked perfectly. She couldn’t stop her snort of laughter from erupting.

Killian finished tying the bandages around her feet in a silence that now felt companionable. He then bustled around the apartment, collecting up the pieces of broken lamp and cleaning up the footprints as best he could in the face of her complete lack of anything to clean with. He poured her a glass of water, and pushed some aspirin and a bear claw onto the coffee table next to her, before finally sitting carefully on the sofa across from her.

“I imagine you have quite a few questions, love –” he began carefully.

“Wait,” she cut in, taking a deep breath, “Before we get into all that, you should know that I have this thing; I’m pretty good at knowing when people are lying to me –”

“Your superpower, yes, I know,” said Killian easily, nodding.

Emma gaped at him in shock momentarily. This casual admission of knowledge about her threw her more than anything else she’d witnessed in the past twelve hours. _How the hell_ did he know? She could think of a handful of possible sources for that information and none of them were good.

_Unless_ , said a small voice inside her head, _he really does know you the way he’s claiming to, the way your gut is telling you…_

“Ok,” she said slowly, “that’s another question to add to the list then… The point is, if you spin me any bullshit, I’ll know. If you lie to me, you’re leaving this apartment and not coming back – which I’m guessing, given the effort you’ve been to so far, is not an outcome you want. So please,” she met his eyes, hoping the expression didn’t betray the vulnerability she was suddenly feeling, “don’t.”

“Alright, love, fair enough,” he agreed seriously, “But I’d like to ask a couple of things from you in return.”

Emma just looked at him, waiting, and he continued.

“Firstly, please keep an open mind. Some of what I say is going to sound utterly preposterous, I won’t deny it – but your life may depend on believing me. And your life is far too precious for me to gamble on, Swan. If you’re not prepared to listen to me, I’d rather not say anything at all until you’re ready.”

Killian was now staring at her with such searing intensity that Emma felt goosebumps erupt over her skin and a chill run down her spine. Unable to trust her voice, she nodded in mute agreement.

“Ok, good,” Killian continued with a business like nod in return. “Secondly, I have some questions for you too – so I propose a trade. For every truthful answer I give you, I’d like you to give me one in return. Does that sound like a fair deal?”

His smirk, which had been absent for the past few minutes in the face of the seriousness of their conversation, now made a creeping return. Emma weighed the mysterious Killian Jones and his offer up for a moment – she had a feeling the conversation they were about to have would change everything. And in that moment, sitting in her bleak apartment with bleak prospects stretching before her, change sounded like a very good thing indeed. When she spoke her answer, her voice was quiet but unwavering.

“It’s a deal.”

“Excellent!” Killian exclaimed. “Let’s shake on it.”

They shook hands, Killian leant forward in his chair, and he began to weave his tale.


	4. Past, Present and Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers! First things first – HUGE apologies that it’s taken me such a long time to post this chapter (and many thanks to KaylizWhoTenDavidfan – your comment a few days ago gave me the nudge I needed to get it over the line). Writing it was kind of like pulling teeth, and I found I had to invest a huge amount of thought and energy into making sure I did my concept for it justice. 
> 
> On which note… this chapter is much longer than any other chapter I’ve posted so far – at more than 4,800 words, it’s nearly half the word count for the entire story up until this point. There is a lot of talking, and a lot of covering of ground which we as OUAT fans will already know. It was necessary to give our young Emma the full briefing, and I was really keen to see how the dynamic would play out between a future Killian who loves Emma and has now developed a bit of perspective on some of his past, and this past Emma who is somewhat broken, very jaded, and not really ready to trust anyone. I hope I’ve done it justice, and that you guys enjoy it! From this point on, the story will move forward a lot more quickly.
> 
> As ever, please let me know what you think in the comments. Hearing from people who are enjoying what I’m writing really brightens up my day and gives me the push I need to keep this moving forward.
> 
> Enjoy!

_...Emma weighed the mysterious Killian Jones and his offer up for a moment – she had a feeling the conversation they were about to have would change everything. And in that moment, sitting in her bleak apartment with bleak prospects stretching before her, change sounded like a very good thing indeed. When she spoke her answer, her voice was quiet but unwavering._

_“It’s a deal.”_

_“Excellent!” Killian exclaimed. “Let’s shake on it.”_

_They shook hands, Killian leant forward in his chair, and he began to weave his tale._

 

 

“I think the first thing we need to establish,” Killian began, one eyebrow cocked, “is how much of last night you actually remember.”

Emma took a shaky breath as Killian looked at her expectantly.

“You know what? I’m not even sure any more,” she admitted with a grimace. “When I woke up, I had this _awful_ headache and I was totally convinced that everything I remembered from last night was just a boozy dream my subconscious cooked up for me. I mean, there were so many details that seemed so unlikely! Who has a _hook for a hand_?” She glanced at the hook in question apologetically. “But then I wake up and…”

Emma gestured wordlessly around the mess in her apartment. She could feel herself starting to freak out slightly. Perhaps Killian knew, because he shot her a smile that somehow managed to be both rueful and reassuring at the same time.

“This probably isn’t what you want to hear,” he said gently, “but I’m willing to bet that every memory you have from last night is real. You haven’t yet told me the part that’s troubling you the most, have you?”

“No,” she admitted hesitantly, “I remember something… something else. You told me it was a… a _time portal_?”

Holding her eyes very seriously with his, Killian nodded. Emma stared at him incredulously for a long minute, waiting for a crack to show, for her superpower to reveal this man for the liar he must surely be. But there was nothing.

“Prove it,” she said fiercely. “You’re asking me to take a leap of faith and believe you. How can I do that without evidence?”

“You have the evidence of your own eyes, Swan,” Killian reminded her, “but if you want more proof: you are Emma Swan, the orphan, found by the side of the road as a babe with no possessions other than a handmade blanket with your name embroidered on it.”

Emma’s eyebrows shot together in surprise – only Neal and a handful of her foster carers knew about her blanket.

“You had a family until you were three, but they returned you into the system when they were expecting a child of their own. Though you’d never admit it, you’ve never truly recovered from that early rejection.”

She gaped at him. “You could have heard that from my ex,” she said uncertainly.

“Alright, then, let me tell you something Neal didn’t know.”

Emma started at Killian’s casual use of Neal’s name. A brief look of alarm crossed his face, whether at the name slip or his surprising use of the past tense, she wasn’t sure.

“As a teenager –,” here, Killian paused thoughtfully for a second, “Come to think of it, I suppose you still are a teenager, aren’t you?”

Emma didn’t respond except to shoot him a fierce look, and Killian hastily continued.

“As a teenager you befriended a lass called Lily, but after she got you into trouble a few too many times, you broke contact with her. A part of you still regrets that decision, and you miss her.”

Emma felt her jaw drop in astonishment – she’d told _no one_ about Lily, not even Neal.

“ _How the hell do you know that?_ ”

“I’ve told you how I know,” Killian said in a low, intense voice. “Now I need you to _believe me_.”

Emma stared at him for a long moment. As insane as all this seemed, it was hard to ignore the evidence before her. She had, after all, seen the portal with her own eyes; and the only other explanation she could think of for Killian to be in possession of such intimate knowledge about her, was that he had somehow met and spoken with both Neal and Lily. Given that she had no idea where Lily was despite sporadic attempts to track her over the years, that explanation seemed highly unlikely.

She _wanted_ to believe Killian, she wanted to _trust him_ , but she’d been hurt too many times to take that leap of faith easily. She needed one more show of proof.

“Tell me something I never told either Neal or Lily,” she requested quietly.

Killian hesitated for a second. When he spoke again, his eyes searched her face in concern, clearly knowing the impact his words would have.

“About 18 months ago now, the man you loved abandoned you to take the fall for his crime. You found yourself in jail, and pregnant. Though it tore your heart out to do it, you gave the babe up because you wanted to give him his best chance.”

Emma closed her eyes as tears streaked silently down her face. Since that day, she’d gone over and over what happened in her head more times than she could count. In the dark of the night, when sleep evaded her, her thoughts would turn inexorably to the one brief glimpse she’d had of her baby boy before he was taken away from her. It always hurt, but over time, the memory was becoming easier to bear. There was something about hearing it spoken aloud in the quiet, pity filled voice of Killian Jones that cut her to the core.

His words had served their purpose, however. She believed him.

“Ok,” she said heavily, when she’d regained control over her voice, “so you came through a time portal. _Who are you_ , and how do we know each other in your future?”

Killian grinned at her in satisfaction. “You believe me then?”

“I don’t see any other explanation for how you could know all that about me,” she replied dully. “I’m still half expecting to wake up strapped to a gurney in a psych ward, but until I do, I’m willing to humor you.”

“Fair enough, lass,” he said gently. “You asked who I am. That’s not a question with a simple answer, I’m afraid. I’ve been many things and many people over the course of my long years, and not all of them good. Orphan, sailor, officer of the king’s navy, fearsome pirate captain, adulterer, villain, lover, friend. I’ve lived nearly two hundred years, crossed realms, travelled in time, and I have many lifetimes’ worth of tales to tell.”

Killian paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. Emma was listening in rapt attention, hardly able to believe her ears. She had meant what she said – she was ready to believe him. But the words hanging in the air between them were painting the vision of a world which she’d thought only existed in the imagination – in myths and fairy tales; a world which was so very far away from anything she’d dreamed could be possible. For a moment she felt like that little girl again, in a foster home, starving for the love of parents she would never know; sitting on the unwelcome edges of a family circle as the bedtime story was told, and hoping for a miracle.

“It’s hard to know how far back to go,” he continued contemplatively. “I suppose our story truly starts with my chance meeting of a lovely dark haired beauty in a port inn, over 160 years ago. Her name was Milah, she was my first love, and she permanently altered the course of my entire existence.”

Killian had a faraway, tender look in his eyes as he spoke of this _Milah_ , and Emma felt an unexpected surge of jealousy. She could already tell by the wistful tone of Killian’s voice and the hint of darkness in his eyes that this part of the story was not going to end happily, but still – Killian Jones was _hers_ , god damn it!

“Milah was a feisty, headstrong lass when I met her, longing to break free from the shackles of a too narrow world,” Killian continued. “I think she saw in me, the fierce pirate captain, a chance for the kind of romance and adventure her life had been sorely lacking to that point. And for my part, I was smitten. I’d been leading a lonely, rootless existence since the death of my older brother years previously – suddenly there was light, and hope again.

“Unfortunately, however,” Killian continued heavily, “Milah was married. In choosing to love me, she was abandoning not only her husband but her young son who needed her – something which she regretted to her last breath. In retrospect, breaking up that family was probably the most selfish act of my life.”

Emma tried to prevent her expression from betraying her agreement but knew she hadn’t been entirely successful. She had given up her baby out of necessity but she knew that had she decided to keep him, nothing on this earth would have compelled her to leave. Killian shot her a rueful look, scratching behind his ear in discomfort.

“Of course, it backfired spectacularly,” he said bitterly. “We had two years of thoughtless, delirious happiness together – sailing throughout the known seas, making love in strange ports in far off lands, and taking what plunder we wanted wherever we went.”

“Sounds pretty good,” said Emma sardonically.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the world doesn’t give you anything for free, love,” said Killian, “All happiness comes with a price. One day we made port and I went for a drink in a local tavern with my crew, as was my habit. Milah usually came with us on these expeditions to shore, but she’d been feeling unwell earlier in the day and chose to remain behind.”

Killian shook his head in weary inevitability at the memory, and the expression in his eyes spoke of old ghosts and resurrected demons.

“I drove myself half mad in the years that followed wondering how things might have gone had she joined me at the tavern – whether maybe, _just maybe_ , we could have saved her. We were making our way back to the ship – a little the worse for wear for drink but in good spirits – when a cloaked figure collided with me. At first I took him for a beggar, and I’m ashamed to say that I taunted him mercilessly for his clumsiness. He played along for a minute or two, grovelling and bowing his head in a show of subservience that I failed to recognise for the mockery it was. Then he was throwing back his hood and I was staring bewildered into the face of Milah’s coward of a husband, _Rumpelstiltskin_.”

Killian spat the name as though it was the blackest of curses, his face contorted into something dark and ugly – and, for the first time, Emma felt a shiver of instinctive fear race down her spine and prickle across the skin of her arms. Still, that name…

“ _Rumpelstiltskin_?” she repeated incredulously. “How did that story go? Wasn’t he a goblin… or an imp, or _something_ … and he helped the miller’s daughter spin straw into gold in exchange for her firstborn child, right?”

“That did happen, yes,” said Killian with a wry smile, “The miller’s daughter was a woman called Cora and she was a piece of work herself… but that’s a tale for another day, love.”

Emma spluttered for a few moments.

“ _What_? You’re trying to tell me this is all _true_?”

“There are elements of truth in almost every story, love, and Rumpelstiltskin’s is no exception,” said Killian patiently. “Now do you want to hear what happened next or not?”

Emma hesitated, poised on the edge of her seat and her mouth hanging open as she sifted through the questions she wanted to ask – but she had promised to listen. After a moment of indecision, she sank back into her chair and crossed her arms, hoping her expression made it clear that she’d by no means given up that line of enquiry.

Killian nodded in wary acknowledgement, before continuing.

“So there I was, staring into the face of Rumpelstiltskin. At first, all I saw was the cowardly but essentially harmless man who’d been unwilling to fight for his own wife years before. But as my brain caught up with my eyes, I started to realise something was very wrong; for Rumpelstiltskin had _changed_.

“His hair hung lank on either side of his face, gently shifting in a breeze that wasn’t there; his skin was scaly, like a crocodile’s, and shimmering with an otherworldly glow in the light from the streetlamps; and his _eyes_ … his eyes were clever and cruel and as cold as a blast of icy wind.

“In short, Rumpelstiltskin was no longer a man – he was no longer even _mortal_. In his selfish and cowardly desire for power he had sacrificed his basic humanity in exchange for eternal life and the freedom to live it untethered by any laws or physical limitations. He inherited an infamous title – feared by all and coveted by many – _the Dark One_. And he became a wild card – a force of nature – answerable only to his own twisted desires, capable of raising people to dizzying heights or pulling them down into oblivion on a moment’s impulse.  

“This was the creature now stood before me in a dark alley at one in the morning, and as he closed in on me with gleeful malice, one clear thought repeated over and over in my mind – _protect Milah_. When he demanded to know where she was, I told him she was dead. When he announced we would duel at dawn, and told me to get my affairs in order, I accepted my fate with resignation. As long as Milah was safe, I’d be satisfied.

“As we left the scene I forbade the crew from saying anything to Milah and – for the first time since I’d known her – prayed that she would be asleep by the time I got back to the ship. At least in this one respect, luck was on my side – Milah was sleeping below deck, so I did not have to face her and see the truth of this terrible situation dawn in her eyes. I sat up all night, staring out to sea with ‘what if’s running incessantly through my head. _What if_ we cast anchor now and head out to sea… _what if_ I offer Rumpelstiltskin something of value in exchange for leaving us in peace… _what if_ I try to reason with the monster… but I knew it was no good. There was no scenario I could concoct that didn’t leave Milah and my crew open to danger in the future, and in any case I had my honor – I was not accustomed to running in situations such as these.

“So, at dawn, I headed out to meet my end. Rumpelstiltskin was waiting for me already – and he was determined to make my death as ignominious as possible.”

_Ignominious?_ Emma’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion at the unfamiliar word and Killian chuckled fondly at her expression.

“It means shameful – disgraceful,” he told her. She snorted.

“Ok… why didn’t you just say that? What are you, like, two hundred?”

Killian just looked at her for a moment.

“Oh, right…” she muttered, and waved her hand at him to continue.

“Rumpelstiltskin wanted to make me suffer before I died,” Killian continued, “so he seized my sword with the intention of giving me the shame of dying by my own weapon. The fight didn’t last long, he had me beaten – and then, at the last second and in the nick of time, Milah showed up.”

Killian paused for a moment, his expression heavy, as though reluctant to continue.

“I found out later that she’d woken at dawn to find my side of the bed cold and empty, and she’d come storming onto deck, demanding that my crew tell her where I was. Of course, they spilled the whole story to her – that was the kind of person she was. Her force of personality was such that one could deny her nothing when she was determined.

“As soon as she knew what was going on, she lost no time in acting. My crew had heard rumours during our excursion on land the night before that a man was in town who had in his possession some magic beans, and that he had made a deal with the Dark One. She ordered them to split up, look for this man, and bring him to her as fast as possible.

“So it was that, at the very moment when Rumpelstiltskin was holding my own sword to my throat and preparing to strike the final blow, Milah came charging into the fray, clasping a knitted red hat aloft as proof that she had captured the man in possession of the magic beans.

“That got the crocodile’s attention, I can tell you. His face contorted into an expression of pure hatred and revulsion at the sight of his errant wife – the only thing that prevented him from killing her on the spot was the knowledge that we were in control of the magic beans.”

“Magic beans?” Emma asked uncertainly, still riveted by Killian’s story, “Wasn’t it a magic bean that Jack planted in the fairy tale, that caused the beanstalk to grow? How did Rumpelstiltskin benefit from _that_?”

“I said that there was a grain of truth in the stories, love, but they do get many things wrong,” Killian answered with a rueful shake of his head. “The giants grew the beans, it’s true, and they lived at the top of beanstalks. But the beans themselves had a far greater power than your story tells – for they offered the means to travel between realms. All the traveller had to do was cast a bean onto the ground, set his mind on the realm that he wanted to travel to, and a portal would open to take him there.

“Travel between realms is exceptionally difficult, even more so if the traveller needs to get to a land without magic such as this one. Rumpelstiltskin was desperately seeking a bean – remember that son I mentioned to you?”

Emma nodded mutely.

“A short while before our disastrous encounter, Rumpelstiltskin’s son Baelfire had sought the means to rid his father of the darkness that was corrupting him. He obtained a bean, and extracted a promise from his father that he would follow his son to a land without magic, where they could live as a normal family again. At the last moment, unwilling to surrender his immense power, Rumpelstiltskin backed out of the deal – and his son was lost through a portal.

“One thing I’ll say for Rumpelstiltskin – he did love his son. From the moment Baelfire was lost to him, the crocodile’s sole motivating thought was to find a way back to him. And he was willing to do absolutely anything to make that happen.

“So there we were in possession of the magic beans, and Milah – I remember it so well,” Killian murmured with a sad smile, “we all marched back to the ship and she gazed at me from across the deck with a blazing look of love and triumph. She thought she’d saved my life – but she didn’t know that she’d condemned her own.

“Milah tossed me the bean for safekeeping and demanded a promise from Rumpelstiltskin that he’d leave us in peace once we’d surrendered it. We all thought he was going to give us what we wanted – the villain _let us think_ that we would get what we wanted. Right up until the moment when he plunged his hand into Milah’s chest and ripped her heart out through her rib cage.”

“ _What_?!” gasped Emma in horror, “That is just…”

She knew the story was not going to end well but hadn’t expected _that_! She shook her head, sick to her stomach, unable to articulate the disgust she suddenly felt.

“Horrific?” supplied Killian bitterly, “Monstrous? He crushed her heart to dust in front of my eyes, and in that moment a part of me died along with her. I ran forward to attack, fully expecting to be killed, but he did not allow me the relief of a quick end to my misery. Instead, he froze me in place, cut off the hand that he believed was still clutching the bean, and disappeared with it in a cloud of purple smoke.

“I was left, curled there on the deck, the stump of my missing hand pumping hot blood onto the floorboards – the bloodstains are there to this day,” he added musingly. “But the pain of my missing hand was nothing compared to the agony of losing my first love, my beloved Milah.”

Killian’s voice broke on the last word and he bowed his head, clearly struggling to keep his emotions in check.

“So that’s how you got the hook,” Emma said, her voice laced with pity.

“Aye,” he confirmed hoarsely, “but the monster did not get everything he wanted. I had made a study of sleight of hand, and he didn’t know that I’d switched the bean to my other hand when he wasn’t looking. My crew laced me with a substantial quantity of alcohol, cauterised the wound and treated me. And as soon as I was back on my feet, I set my sights on revenge. I had no knowledge or power that would help me destroy the Dark One – but I had a magic bean. What I needed was the time and space to figure out a plan; so we made a course for the one realm where time is in infinite supply – Neverland.”

“ _Neverland?_ ” said Emma incredulously – then something clocked. She stared in wide-eyed shock at Killian’s hook. “Oh no – _no way_! You are _not_ telling me what I think you are!”

“If you think I’m trying to tell you that I’m Captain Hook, then yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” smiled Killian dryly.

“But – but that means you’re a –!”

“A villain? Yes, I was” Killian said with an unapologetic shrug. “You have to understand that when I lost my Milah, I lost my last scrap of faith in people, in the power of good deeds. Nothing and no one mattered to me anymore, except getting my revenge on Rumpelstiltskin. It consumed my every waking thought. And I was prepared to do absolutely anything in pursuit of that goal.

“I won’t go into detail about the shameful years that followed – suffice to say that for more than a century and a half, I became lost in darkness and evil deeds – the very blackest kind of villain. It’s a miracle, really, that I ever resurfaced. But I can pinpoint the exact moment I began to let the light back in again – though I didn’t recognise it at the time.”

Killian’s blue eyes were now fixed once again on Emma, swimming with undisguised devotion. She felt her face heat up under his gaze, but found that she couldn’t look away.

“It was you, Swan,” he said to her intensely, “you, your ferocious green eyes and golden hair, your strength, your determination. When we met, it was by chance – and I was up to my usual villainous ways. But you saw through me in an instant, held a knife to my throat, and demanded the truth from me. And you were _glorious_. It took some time for me to recognise it, and even longer for you to accept it, but from that moment on, I was yours.

Killian took a deep breath, shifting in his seat. Emma could sense he was nearly done talking, and she was glad. Her head was swimming – she felt like she was drowning in thoughts and questions.

“You asked me who I am – now you know. I’m Killian Jones. I’m Captain Hook. I’m the man who loved with all his heart, then lost himself for more than a century. I was lost, but you found me. And now I’m yours – heart and body and soul.”

Killian finally stopped talking and leaned back in his chair.

He was clearly expecting some kind of response from her, but Emma felt flabbergasted – she had no idea where to even start. It was shocking enough that this man had turned up, literally out of thin air, and announced that he _belonged_ to her. To be told at the same time that time travel, and fairy tales, and magic were _all real_ – it was far too much for her to process.

Several minutes passed in silence while Emma stared into her lap, trying to squash her hovering sense of panic and wrap her head around everything she’d been told. From the edges of her field of vision, she was dimly aware of Killian’s patient façade starting to break – he began shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he waited for her reaction, then scratching at his ear, before finally fiddling compulsively with the chunky rings on his fingers. As four minutes of silence turned into five, he cracked.

“Ok, love, tell me what you’re thinking,” he implored her. She wrenched her eyes back up to look at him like a rabbit in the headlights. His blue eyes were wary, insecure – and at the expression of trepidation on his face, Emma suddenly found the whole situation hilarious. A wave of uncontrollable laughter hit her.

“I fail to see the joke, Swan,” he said in confusion, prompting a fresh howl of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” Emma gasped, struggling to pull herself together, “It’s just – _Captain Hook_ is sitting in my crappy apartment, looking like he’s about to be told off for stealing all the cookies or something… I keep on expecting to hear a _tick tock_ noise and for you to shout ‘ _I’m a codfish!_ ’”

“I assume you’re referring to that ridiculous movie that depicts me as a coward with an absurd mustache and perm, obsessed with killing Peter Pan?” Killian asked flatly. “You – future you – made me watch that last week.”

“That’s the one,” Emma chuckled, then with an effort she managed to get her laughter back under control. “I’m very happy to say that you look nothing like the cartoon, so I’m assuming it got some other stuff wrong too.”

“You assume correctly, love,” he confirmed darkly. “I was never Pan’s enemy – I would never have been stupid enough to pit myself against that demon. No one went against Pan and lived to tell the tale.”

Intrigued, Emma opened her mouth to ask for more detail, but before the words had left her mouth some of the other questions she was dying to ask came bubbling up into her mind.

“Ok, I think I’m going to have to start making a list of things I want to ask you,” Emma muttered, half to herself. “First things first – you’ve told me who you are. Why are you here?”

“I’m here because you’re in danger, Swan,” Killian replied very seriously. “An enemy from the future has travelled back to this time with the intention of finding you, and killing you. Jafar is somewhere in New York, he’s powerful, and he’s determined to see you dead. If he succeeds…” Killian’s face visibly paled at the thought. “I’ll remain lost in darkness and revenge. Your parents will be cursed to spend eternity alone. Your son will never be reunited with his mother. And the light you brought to all our lives will be forever-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Emma cut in frantically. “My parents? My _son_? _Jafar_??”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you everything that’s going to happen in your future,” Killian said with a hint of irritation in his tone. “Apparently that will run an unacceptable risk of ‘disrupting the timeline’” – he made sarcastic air quotes – “but I will say that you have a happy and fulfilled lifetime ahead of you, and you are loved by many people. For my part, a future without you in it is one that I would not want to live – I intend to do _everything_ in my power to ensure that I don’t have to.”

That fierce, intense expression was back in Killian’s eyes again, and Emma felt the tension ratchet up. She felt deeply uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“Look,” she said awkwardly, “I can see that you’re sincere. You say you love me, and I believe you. But if you know me as well as you claim to, you’ll know that I’m not great at the whole ‘trust and intimacy’ thing. You’re – well… I’ll be honest, you’re seriously hot. And you seem like a great guy – the whole ‘Captain Hook’ thing aside. But you’re basically a stranger to me.”

“Aye, I know,” Killian replied shortly, “And I’m not expecting anything from you that you’re not willing or able to give. However you should know that until the danger is passed, I’ll not be letting you out of my sight. I’d like it if you’d give me a chance to be your friend – things will be far easier for both of us if you do. But I’ll be sticking to you like glue either way.”

Emma felt a surge of indignation at his words, but also a spark of something else that was unfamiliar to her. Something warm and comfortable – something that felt like hope. And she couldn’t find it in herself to object.


End file.
